


A Slow Ripening Fruit

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8348941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: When Mac doesn't return from a weekend away, Phryne and Jack go looking for her.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CollingwoodGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/gifts).



> It's CollingwoodGirl's birthday, and Mac, Jack and Phryne friendship fic sounded like a lot of fun. It... did not turn out the way I had hoped. But since my backup plan was ruined by this pesky Real Life business, she's getting it anyway.

_“Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow ripening fruit.”_

― Aristotle

—————————————————————————

Jack was never quite certain what it was that tipped him off to Phryne’s arrival at the station. The click of her heels on the station floor, the sudden silence from whichever constable was manning the desk (he could hardly blame the poor bastards, the woman was a menace), the waft of her perfume he seemed able to pick up over a thousand other scents, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling in her proximity. All of them, perhaps, or maybe none at all. Regardless, he was halfway through a telephone call with a prosecutor about a case on the docket for the following week when he felt her presence.

He looked up as she waltzed through the open door, tossing herself into a chair and flashing him a supercilious smile while she waited for him to finish. He did, then flashed her a smile of his own.

“Miss Fisher. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can’t a woman pass through the area without an interrogation?” she asked.

“She can. You cannot.”

She wrinkled her nose playfully.

“I missed you.”

“It’s Monday,” he pointed out, the subtext that she’d seen him the entire weekend left unspoken. He glanced at the clock—barely after noon. “Not even particularly late on a Monday. Did I forget plans?”

“No,” she said breezily. “I just thought I’d say hello.”

Jack tilted back in his chair and waited. She was easy to outlast; after a minute, Phryne huffed.

“Mac’s missing.”

Jack sat straight up. He was expecting her to con him into attending one of Mrs. Stanley’s functions as her escort, not—

“What do you mean, ‘missing’?”

“Absent. Not at home. Vanished.”

“Have you spoken to anyone else?”

The look she gave him could have levelled the entire city.

“She’s not missing-missing,” Phryne conceded. “She has a cabin in the mountains where she was spending the weekend, but she hasn’t come home.”

“Is that unusual?” Jack asked; it certainly didn’t sound like Mac, but one never knew. “Has she missed a shift at the hospital?”

“No.”

She actually picked at a loose thread in her trousers, so uncharacteristic an action that Jack realised there was a quite a bit she wasn’t prepared to share just yet. He sighed.

“What would you like me to do?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you thought it was nothing. I could call the nearest station, have someone go out to her?”

“Ahhh,” Phryne said. “That’s the rub. I’ve been there a few times, enough I can get there, but I haven’t got the address.”

“This is beginning to feel ominous,” Jac said dryly.

“A missing Mac didn’t?”

“Someone adding an extra day to a weekend away is hardly grounds for panic.”

“Regardless,” she said, a tiny jut to her chin, “I thought I’d drive up and check in on her.”

“If you’re concerned, that might be best. It does beg the question why you are—oh no.”

She smiled innocently at him.

“I thought you might enjoy the drive.”

“I’m working, Miss Fisher.”

“Consider it a welfare check?”

Jack looked at her levelly, and noticed a tightness around her eyes.

“Give me an hour,” he said. “And Doctor MacMillan better be appreciative that I’m spending hours in a car with you to stage a rescue that is doubtlessly unnecessary.”

“I knew you’d see it my way eventually,” she said brightly, standing up to go. “I’ll be back in an hour and ten minutes, and I expect you to be ready.”

Jack just shook his head in resignation.

———

One hour and seven minutes later, Jack had explained to his supervisors why he was harrying off on a vaguely defined investigation, returned home long enough to change, and made his way back to the station. To his surprise, Phryne was sitting on his desk as he entered, and a look of relief crossed her face when she spied him. Clearly she was more concerned for Mac than she had let on.

“Miss Fisher,” he said.

“Come along then, Jack,” she said briskly as she hopped down and headed to the door, leaving him to trail behind without any further explanation.

He followed, catching her elbow as they headed down the station stairs and pulling her towards the police motorcar.

“If it’s an official enquiry…” he said.

Phryne shook her head and retrieved a basket from the Hispano, but compliantly climbed into the passenger seat. He would have preferred an argument.

“Take Sydney Road to start,” Phryne said. “I’ll direct you from there.”

“As always, Miss Fisher,” said Jack, hoping for a smile. She remained quiet.

An hour later and still on the motorway, Jack’s tolerance was nearing its limits.

“Am I going to learn why I’m on a completely unnecessary rescue mission, or are we presuming that my compliance is merely a given?”

“Mac… had a bad week,” Phryne said. “She didn’t share the specifics—in fact, she didn’t _say_ anything to me at all—but Aunt Prudence mentioned she was there all hours with one of her maternity patients, and neither one made it.”

“That can’t have been easy,” he said, at a loss to say anything else.

“She takes it personally, sometimes.”

Jack took a hand off the wheel long enough to give her knee a gentle squeeze, then turned back to the road.

After another hour, Jack stopped to stretch his legs and refuel the car, and Phryne took the opportunity to purchase a drink at the little cafe. Then they continued their journey, eventually turning on to what was little more than a path to reach Mac’s place. The car barely made it, and Jack hoped he wouldn’t have to explain the whole thing to the police mechanic in the morning—it was nearing dark, and unless they came across some sort of emergency at the cabin, Jack couldn’t see risking the trip back out to a major road.

Eventually, the small building came into view, along with the doctor’s motor car and the doctor herself sitting outside. Phryne bolted from the car the moment it stopped.

“Mac!”

“Phryne? What the devil are you doing here?”

To Jack’s utter amazement, he saw something he’d never seen before and doubted he would again—an utterly speechless Phryne Fisher. It lasted for all of a minute, which was approximately 45 seconds longer than he would have thought possible, and then she was her usual self.

“I thought you might be in need of a lift.”

Mac shot a disgusted look at her motorcar, then sighed.

“Yes, well, she made it in but I don’t think she’ll make it out; I was going to walk down to the town, but I twisted my ankle,” she said, then seemed to notice him for the first time. “Hello Jack!”

“Evening, Mac,” he said.

“I did tell you to have Millie look at it,” Phryne was scolding, moving to the vehicle to examine it.

“Yes, well, I had a rather busy week.”

“And what if I hadn’t noticed you weren’t home?”

“Well, mother, I imagine I would have wasted away up here, unable to resolve my own problems,” Mac said, rolling her eyes. “Or—and this is just a possibility—one of the failsafes I have in place would have kicked in.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, Mac. It doesn’t suit you.”

Jack couldn’t help but snort, and Phryne turned to look at his derisively.

“Yes, mother,” he said, attempting a straight face. He wasn’t entirely certain he succeeded.

“It’s too dark to do anything with the car tonight,” Phryne said. “I guess we’re staying. Good thing I had Mr. Butler pack some essentials.”

“Dinner?” Mac asked.

“Whiskey.”

“Even better.”

Jack shook his head, gathered some firewood from where it was stacked at the side of the cabin, and headed inside.

———

Mr. Butler had, in fact, packed a cold dinner in addition to _two_ bottles of whiskey, which sounded like a bad bloody idea to Jack, even with both women’s high tolerance for alcohol. He lit a fire in the fireplace, as much to get out of Phryne’s way as she spoke to Mac as any real desire to do so; he could hear the two women speaking quietly by the door, and while he could not pick out the words, he caught the mood—Mac was still upset and determined not to show it, and Phryne was still worried. Standing, Jack brushed his hands on his trousers and examined the cottage; it was a single room building, a bed in one corner, two arm chairs in front of the fire, a small range and plumbed sink along the far wall, and a bookshelf crammed full of books. Clean and pleasant, but sparse; almost exactly what he would expect from Mac, really.

There were, thankfully, three plates and mugs on the side, and Jack began to dish out dinner for them all. A few minutes later he felt arms wrap around his waist and a kiss pressed against his shoulder blade.

“All sorted?” he asked, portioning out the chicken.

“We… had an argument on Thursday,” Phryne said quietly. “I might have overreacted.”

“I’m sure you’ve never overreacted in your life,” Jack teased, earning him a pinch on his bottom before Phryne grabbed a plate and made her way to one of the arm chairs. Mac had brought in the third chair from outside and placed it before the fire, and Jack brought over her dinner along with his.

“I’m sorry Phryne dragged you all the way out here, inspector,” Mac said.

“It was nice to be out of the station,” replied Jack, making the effort to smile at her. “And when the alternative included pulling Dr. Johnson back from whatever gin-soaked corner of early retirement they’ve hidden him in…”

Mac laughed.

“I still can’t believe they manipulated me into taking the position.”

“How _did_ that happen?” Jack asked, realising he didn’t know.

“Phryne never told you?”

“I was knee-deep in the Sanderson-Fletcher investigation at the time,” he admitted, “and I wasn’t looking a gift horse—or in this case, a competent coroner—in the mouth.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Mac said dryly. “Whiskey?”

Jack and Phryne both nodded, and three tumblers were poured out.

“Russell Street got the brilliant idea that if they were using the university hospital, they could use the university employees. Yours truly drew the short straw, but it does mean I have fewer classes to teach and funding for one of my programs.”

“And,” Phryne cut in with a smile, “you get to spend more time with me.”

“The aim of all sane women everywhere.”

Jack chuckled, and Phryne turned betrayed eyes on him. He winked at her, then turned his attention back to Mac.

“All the same, we were very fortunate to get you.”

“Are you turning sentimental on me?” Mac asked, finishing her whiskey and pouring a second.

“Never.”

“Good. Another drink?”

“Please,” said Phryne. “After the week I had…”

If it was meant for bait, the doctor wasn’t biting. Or couldn’t, given the nature of the job.

“Tell me about it,” agreed Jack, as much a show of solidarity as any real complaint. “I spent three days in meetings with the top brass last week.”

“Let me guess, nothing actually happened but you absolutely had to be there?”

“Full points to the doctor for recognising bureaucracy when she sees it.”

“To shitty weeks then,” Mac said, raising her glass in toast, “and to seeing the back of them with good company and better whiskey.”

“Hear, hear!” Phryne and Jack both exclaimed.

The continued to talk for some time, teasing and laughing and finishing the first bottle and working their way into the second. Finally, the fire died down and all three of them were ready to turn in for the night. Jack's liquor-loosened brain recognised the problem far quicker than his sober one had.

"There's only one bed," he said, looking at the armchairs and willing them to become large enough to comfortably accommodate sleeping. If you pushed two together it might suffice for one (preferably small) person, which still left two of them.

"Oh, it's no trouble," Phryne said, waving her hand, "Mac and I have shared a bed many times."

"Sure, no trouble for you," Mac cut in. "You aren't the one that gets kicked all night long."

"I do not kick," Phryne said mutinously.

Jack laughed; Phryne's... enthusiastic movement, even in sleep, had been quite an adjustment. He couldn't particularly blame the doctor for avoiding it.

"I don't!"

"Of course not, Miss Fisher."

"I'm not sure why I brought you along Jack," she pouted teasingly. "You've spent all evening taking Mac's side, it’s completely unfair."

"You brought me along, Miss Fisher, because you know that I am on your side on important matters," he replied, equally teasing. "But the kicking cannot be denied, and I have the bruises to prove it."

She mock-huffed, then smiled and held out her hand to call him over. He eyed it suspiciously, and she laughed again.

“You act as if I bite!”

“Kick, more like,” Mac muttered, and Phryne shot her a censuring glare.

“I came all this way to rescue you, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I’m not sharing a bed with you, Phryne. And I’m sorry, but you and Jack can’t take it either,” she shot Jack a genuinely apologetic look. “I know what happens when Phryne and a man share a bed, and quite frankly inspector I don’t think even your natural reticence would resist her.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest that he had no intention of evicting Mac from her own bed regardless, but settled on, “I don’t mind sleeping in the car, if you have a spare blanket.”

Mac snorted. “It’s nearly freezing, Jack. The whiskey might make you _feel_ warm, but we’d still be running the risk of your frozen corpse come morning. Oddly enough, I’m not inclined to find that a viable option.”

“Definitely not,” agreed Phryne. “I suppose the only solution is for you and Jack to share, and I can take the chair.”

“Miss F—”

“Don’t you dare object, Jack. I’m the smallest of us, it’s the most practical. If we push the two together it might be almost comfortable.”

Jack obligingly moved the chair, figuring that it needed to be moved no matter who ended up sleeping in it, and then looked at Mac.

“Doctor—”

“If you can’t call me Mac when we’re sleeping in the same bed—”

“I can always sleep on the floor—”

Mac huffed. “Don’t be absurd.”

“But if—”

“As long as it’s alright with you—”

“I mean, it’s just a bed—”

“Exactly. Needs must and all that.”

“I really don’t mind the floor.”

“You’re liable to end up with chilblains, inspector.”

“If you can’t call me Jack when we’re sleeping in the same bed—”

“Very clever. So long as you don’t hog the covers.”

“No. That’s all Phryne, as I’m sure she’ll attest,” Jack said, looking to her. “Or would, if she wasn’t already asleep. I don’t know how she does that.”

“That woman could sleep anywhere,” said Mac. “There’s no moving her now, so bed for the both of us. I do warn you though, I snore.”

“So does Phryne. I suspect your judo skills are slightly less terrifying though,” Jack said, shrugging off his suit jacket and loosening his tie.

Mac removed her own jacket, waistcoat and cravat, and seemed to be contemplating the shirt. Jack turned away, and she laughed.

“I’ve been seen in a lot less by a lot worse than the likes of you,” she said. “You may as well remove yours as well.”

Jack unfastened his braces, then removed the rest of his suit until he was left in only his union suit of heavy wool.

“I would have thought Phryne had broken you of the habit,” Mac observed.

“Uhh,” Jack fumbled, looking for words to describe the exact parameters of his undergarments with his lover’s best friend, “she has. Mostly. I changed into this because I knew it would be cold.”

“Well, it’s more comfortable than sleeping in a suit,” Mac said. “You can turn around now.”

She was wearing a union suit of her own, and quickly climbed beneath the covers. Jack slipped into the other side of the bed, laying straight on his back and staring at the ceiling. Mac had no such qualms—she shifted and rolled until she was in a comfortable position, then extinguished the light.

“Good night, inspector,” she said, a dry sort of amusement in her voice.

“Good night, doctor.”

———

Half-awake, Jack became keenly aware of the feeling of a woman in his arms that most definitely was not Phryne. Even with his eyes closed, the hair against his cheek was wrong, the scent was wrong, the body was wrong. He cracked open his eyes, and found himself looking directly at a horrified Elizabeth MacMillan.

“Morning, you two,” chirped a voice from near the fireplace. “Cozy, are we?”

Jack could feel his face burning, and Mac chuckled in response.

“He makes an excellent pillow,” Mac called back. “Pity he’s a man.”

“I think it’s one of his best features.”

“ _He_ is right here,” interjected Jack, pushing off the covers, “and prefers not to be discussed like chattel.”

Phryne had put the kettle on the range before they had woken, and it whistled.

“Tea?” she asked. “I don’t think Mac has coffee.”

“Foul stuff,” Mac said, climbing out of the bed and pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Tea and toast are all mornings are suited for, and if you absolutely must a bowl of porridge.”

She stumbled towards the door—to use the dunny, Jack presumed—still favouring her injured ankle. When the door shut behind her, Jack turned to look at Phryne.

“I think she’s less of a morning person than you are.”

Phryne laughed.

“Wipe your mouth, darling,” she said, “there’s drool.”

Jack climbed out of the bed, quickly dressing before Mac’s return, then headed towards the tap to wash his face. No razor, which was unfortunate; he rubbed the day’s growth absently, and a moment later Phryne came up to kiss his cheek.

“I like it,” she said. “Makes you look terribly roguish.”

“As all good servants of the law ought to be.”

“So long as you don’t grow one of those awful mustaches,” she replied, kissing his top lip. “I’ve found I’ve lost my taste for them.”

Mac returned, and Jack stepped outside to give her time to dress in privacy; when he came in a few minutes later, Phryne was dishing up breakfast.

“Eat up,” she directed, passing him a plate. “We still have to drive back into town, and I have no intention of playing chauffeur while you two canoodle in the back seat."

Jack attempted to look offended, and suspected he'd failed miserably. He shared an amused look with Mac instead, who took a long sip of tea before replying.

"Phryne, darling, neither of us enjoys the audience. But you could always head into town yourself..."

It was a testament to his long acquaintance with audacity that Jack didn't even blush.


End file.
